’It’s a good thing the threat of an explosion caused everyone to run like-wait, what shit show?’
On cue, Frosttusk issued a warning to Zhen Liu.
[Minn jarl, Hurricroak! Tuck and roll, now!]
’Huh? Oh shit!’
Seconds after Zhen Liu and Hurricroak did as instructed and rolled in opposite directions, a large humanoid figure flew right pass them and impacted the wall behind them, embedding themself in the process.
When the dust settles, Zhen Liu and Hurricroak could see that the large figure was none other than the leader of the Digger’s Union, Grand Digger Orgo. Granted, his face looked significantly more bruised and bleeding than the last ti Zhen Liu saw him.
"Oh fuck sideways, the hell happened in there?," Zhen Liu asked aloud.
Answering that question, Zhen Liu’s grandfather followed Orgo’s flight path shortly soon after, his aether armor cracked and broken in multiple places, while his body looked moderately injured. He wasn’t at death’s door, but he didn’t look good.
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Earlier in the evening...
[Gale Rush!]
FWOOSH!
BOOM!
"GAH!"
"What’s wrong you filthy peasant? Are my blows too strong for your armor?!," Jacob shouted, looking positively sinister as his cane sword burned with a black and evil fla.
After Jacob had switched blades, Orgo had been forced to be on the defensive to an extre level.
Dodge, block, or get hit.
These were the only choices Orgo had available to him as Jacob not only amped up his speed, but his destructive power thanks to the Ifirit Fire Heart Crystal blade. Unfortunately for him, it was starting to get a harder and harder to do that second choice.
’Damn it, damn it, damn it! I can’t keep holding this up! My pick is about to fucking break to pieces!,’ Orgo cursed as he had to deflect yet another attack without being able to counter.
Perhaps as a consequence of his formula, Orgo had developed a fighting style that could best be described as brutal, straightforward and slow as hell. Such a combination of traits would suggest that Orgo’s weakness were warriors who put more emphasis on clever tricks and speed, an assumption that was mostly correct.
Over the years however, Orgo managed to co up with a series of moves that allowed him to abuse this assumption in order to counter attack in a brutal manner, naly using his pickaxe to snag his opponents before they escape and then slam them into the ground. Normally, this wouldn’t be the issue as even Desert Cheetahs, aether beast fad for their speed in the region, would be caught off-guard by Orgo’s counterattacks. Unfortunately for Orgo, Jacob Wolfe was moving three tis as fast with twice the destructive power of those cheetah beasts.
"Now break!"
*BOOM!*
"Bastard!"
When Jacob ca around for his next attack, the blow exploded Orgo’s pickaxe into slag and dust. Orgo’s only course for defense now was to either dodge or try to resist with just his armor.
Chunks of his armor were disappearing back into the surrounding aether, a visual representation of his weakening "conviction". Orgo tried to reaffirm his heart and repair it, but in this mont, he could only stop further disintegration.
’Damnit! If only I was faster," Orgo thought to himself for a brief mont, antithetical to his slow and steady style.
"Hahahahah! Too bad you filthy peasant! That just ans this next attack will be your last!," Jacob taunted, "maybe in your next life, you’ll learn to keep your head underground and leave the surface for those who deserve it!"
’...no. I don’t need to be faster. I don’t need to get to your level. I just need to bring you down to the ground.’ Orgo realized after hearing Jacob’s taunt. Sothing about Jacob’s arrogance lit a fire in the old miner’s heart that caused his armor to repair itself to it’s original state...and the faint shadow of an orange pickaxe to form in his hands.
"What?! An armant?! But you’re nowhere near completing your fifth ring!," Jacob exclaid in agitated confusion.
"To impose one’s will onto the world...," Orgo replied as he studied the outline in hisbhands, "I’m nowhere near the level to make a proper Armant, but I can least make this pseudo one. And use it to bring you down!"
With a powerful yell, Orgo swung the pseudo armant down to the ground and released a powerful shockwave that tore the ground into a hazard land of rubble.
Jacob was knocked off his feet because of the shockwave, forcing to slow down from his blistering fast pace from before. This gave Orgo the ti and opportunity he needed to turn the fight around.
Despite the pseudo armamanet in his hands being almost non-existent, he could still channel aether into it and perform arts with it to an extent. As such, he used it to perform a signature art of his that he would normally use his actual pickaxe for.
[Treasure Smash!]
The armant in his hand proceeded to glow with a golden aura as he swung it down towards Jacob Wolfe.
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[Mountain Rending Claw!]
[Illusion Mist!]
*CRASH!*
Harold swung a heavy claw of aether down towards Zhen Shi and slashed right through him, only for the latter to burst into a cloud of mist. Several dozen clones of Zhen Shi then appeared, surrounding the Wolfe Grand Elder.
"Illusionary clones? I’m not sure if I should saddened you thought this would work, or impressed you actually attempted to be clever," Harold observed with contempt as he slashed through a few of the clones. He knew it was a small waste of energy and ti, but it was sowhat cathartic.
"Don’t care. As long as it works as a distraction," Zhen Shi shot back.
"Oh? A distraction for what?"
"Orgo taking out your son."
"What?!"
"Agghhh!"
Now that he wasn’t busy trying to kill Zhen Shi, Harold could now sense that his son just got severely injured by Orgo. He could sense his son’s aether wavering.
"Jacob! You rat bastards!," Harold cursed as his armor began to crack, but only for a mont."I’ll fucking tear you all to pieces!"
Harold ignored the clones at this point and brought his hands together to form a hand seal and channeled his aether into it.
The air beca distorted as Harold summoned his Armant.
"Oh shit," Zhen Shi cursed as he coordinate his clones to run in opposite directions. As it would turn out, this would be a futile effort.
[Rip, tear and force this world to bend to my will. Show them the harshness of the dead lands and the burning sun. Wasteland Executioner!]
When Harold fully summoned his [Armant], a massive greatsword that looked as savage as the aura it exuded, the surrounding mist dispersed and he now has a clear view of Orgo over his son’s injured form, ready to bring down his pickaxe.
Enraged by the sight, Harold showed these pitiful little Grandmasters the full force of a Lord’s Armant.
"I should have just done this from the start! He with the bigger fist is always right!"
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